


Flower(y) Language

by Solstarin



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 08:49:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13027506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solstarin/pseuds/Solstarin
Summary: Thor is good at punching things. He's not so good with his mouth. But is that going to stop him?





	Flower(y) Language

**Author's Note:**

> Day 15!

Thor wasn’t a timid person, by any stretch of the imagination. He was a warrior, the Prince of the Nine Realms, a _god_ , for its worth! He had vanquished entire armies in a single day, and enemies three times larger than he with a single hand!

So, why, _by the Norns_ , could he not speak to this woman?!

He couldn’t even truly say they were friends. She worked under her father in the palace grounds’ smithy, and saw him often, but every time she smiled at him over a repaired blade or piece of armor, he would lose any semblance of speech he might have had in his head. It was silly. There was no reason he should be so doeish with her. If he wanted her to be closer, all he needed to do was tell her so! There were dozens of ladies in the court who swooned at even a side glance from him. There was no way she would refuse him. She couldn’t. He would simply order her, as her Prince, if she did.

That was all that was on his mind as he sat down for supper with his parents and his brother. They were not attended by the Warriors Three or any of Odin’s advisors this evening as they usually would have been - Frigga had established one supper hour a month reserved only for the four of them, in an effort to keep them familiar. It provided a good opportunity, as well, to bring up personal subjects that might be too tender for outside ears. Perhaps he could ask his mother for some advice.

“What troubles you, Thor?” Frigga’s gentle voice brought Thor out of his head.

“Y/N,” he answered honestly. “I cannot seem to speak to her, for my quality. I cannot understand how it can be so _difficult_.”

“I know you believe yourself to be a grown warrior, my son,” his mother began with a knowing smile, “But you are still young, and have much to learn.”

“For decades, the Einherjar bested you in the arena,” Loki put in over the rim of his goblet. “I recall one particular–” Their mother levelled him with a look that not even the Allfather himself could attest halfway through his next sentence, and he swallowed his words with another swig of wine.

“Some of the boy you once were still resides within you. It isn’t something to be ashamed of.”

“Perhaps if he spoke _with_ people on occasion, instead of _at_ them,” Loki mumbled, apparently not spurned enough to restrain himself.

“At least _I have_ people to talk to, Loki,” Thor shot back. Unfortunately the close, private quarters also allowed mouths a looseness they might not have had in other company. Bickering was not unusual.

“The only reason they are friends with you is because you are–”

“Boys.” Frigga’s warning went unheard.

“–the son of the Allfather! Do you truly think they value _you_ over what opportunities you provide for them?”

“Show me some friends of yours, brother, and perhaps then we can–”

“ _Enough_!” Odin’s booming command silenced them both. “If you are to do nothing but argue, both of you may return to your quarters.”

Loki pushed his chair back with a sharp scrape. “Gladly.”

Thor rose as well, nearly breaking the back legs of his chair in the process. “Excuse me,” he muttered, barely saying it at all, and stode out of the dining chambers in the opposite direction of his brother.

~

Loki was right. Thor kicked a fist-sized stone in his mother’s garden as he resented his brother’s aptitude. The stone skidded across the winding pavement, frightening off a flock of nearby sparrows. There was no way that Y/N would know how he felt about her if Thor never did anything further for her than normal. Even then, asking for a mend to his pauldrons was hardly romantic.

He kicked the rock and followed where it led him until it disappeared into tangle of thorns. He glared at the offending plant, as it had stolen his new plaything, until it dawned on him.

Roses. All the ladies of the palace would spend hours here, admiring his mother’s broad, colorful flora. Every love story he’d been forced to sit through in his studies involved the giving of flowers, mostly roses. Surely they must have some romantic currency with women. This seemed a safe way to begin expressing himself before she was turned off to his awkward stumbling forever.

All he had to do was snap them off. He’d seen his mother do it before, but when he tried to break off a stem, it proved slippery, and the sharp point of a prickle sliced open the pad of his finger. He cursed under his breath and worked it with his other hand, managing this time to snap it off lopsidedly, near the base of the flower. He picked a handful more, and each time, he cut open a new patch of his hands. He gave up after half a dozen, trying relentlessly, and breaking them all unevenly. There was no way he would be able to get the tiny, delicate prickles off, at this point.

Fed up with the flowers, with his lack of dexterity, and with the whole damned situation, he tossed them aside, onto a nearby bench, and turned sharply, seeking something to staunch the blood welling from a dozen or so cuts on his hands, but bumped head first into someone.

His mother’s gaze soothed a little of the angry fire in his chest, and waved her hands after seeing his, producing a handkerchief, which she handed to him.

“What happened here?”

Thor sat with a huff beside his flowers, and gestured to them with a jerk. “I am now bested by plants.”

Frigga took a seat across from him, the flowers between them. “Who are these for?”

“Y/N,” he answered, shortly, through clenched teeth.

His mother took up a stem and broke off a prickle skillfully. “Are you going to see her?”

“I don’t know,” Thor lamented as he pressed the handkerchief to another cut.

“Well, you’ve gone to this much trouble.” Frigga handed him a smooth-stemmed rose and took up another one as she spoke. “What is the harm?”

Thor ground his teeth. “I am nowhere near as skillful with words as Loki is. He could make a statue fall in love with him. I cannot even _speak_ to a woman I admire.”

Frigga hummed. “As I recall, you were quite fond of the Lady Sif not a decade past.”

“That’s _different_ , mother. Sif is a _warrior_. Y/N is – she’s–”

He searched for a term, but found he had nothing further, and closed his mouth with a growl. He knitted his brow closer together and frowned at the scarlet welling from his hand as he clenched it in frustration.

“ _What_ makes it different?”

“I don’t know!”

SIlence fell between them as his mother disarmed each rose and scattered the prickles across the dirt behind them. She fluttered her fingers again and this time conjured a thick ribbon of deep red, tying the stems together neatly.

“I imagine she is a reasonable girl. I imparted my knowledge of speech to both of my sons, Thor. I am confident you can conduct yourself. Or, perhaps you could consult your brother.”

Go to _Loki_? With _this_? Good gods, no. He’d never hear the end of it.

His mother noticed the look of disgust on his face, and chuckled, handing him the bundle of flowers. “Perhaps not. You will never get an answer from her, Thor, unless you ask.”

Frigga pressed a kiss to her son’s hairline, and glided away. Thor stared at the roses for a moment before standing. Loki might have been right, but so was his mother.

~

For a moment, standing there, in the doorway of the smithy, with the weight of a half-dozen roses nearly crushing his chest, he considered abandoning the endeavor, at least for the time being. Y/N hadn’t noticed him, yet, lost in scribbling away in a logbook. He could turn, silently, and leave before she was any the wiser. Maybe he _would_ talk to his brother. Maybe –

Too late.

“Oh, my– my lord!” Y/N exclaimed as she recognized him, turning from her books and dropping into a curtsy. “If you are here for your greaves, I’m afraid they’re not yet finished. I’ll be sure to pick up the pace–”

“No, lady,” he said, stopping her with a wave of a hand. “I’m sure you’re doing – _they’re_ doing fine. I came for–” he cleared his throat. “I came for another matter.”

Y/N blinked, her gaze shifting between his hands and his face. “I’m no healer, my lord, I’m sorry–”

“No!” he barked, perhaps a little too insistently, and he felt guilty at the snap of her jaw and the widening of her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I came with something for you.”

Heart pounding, he reached inside his coat and produced the small bundle of roses. He felt silly, with bloody hands and half a dozen snapped stalks. She took them when he offered, with shy hands, looking confused.

“I’ve little skill for words,” he admitted, unable to keep his eyes in one place. “Battle does not require much speech.”

“My lord, I –”

“Thor.” he pressed, finally holding her gaze. “Please.”

“Thor, I don’t know what to say, either. This is so… _sudden_. I had no idea you thought of –”

“If my advance is unwelcome, I can take my leave,” he began, ready to flee.

“ _No_ ,” Y/N insisted. “No, not unwelcome. Only… unexpected.”

The pause that rose between them was tense, like a bubble waiting to burst. “I should like to… see you more often.”

Y/N’s eyes nearly swallowed him whole when she looked up at him. “I am here, most days. If you would like to watch the progress of your pieces…” She trailed off, examining the flowers in her hands.

“If you… liked the roses," Thor followed, "My mother’s garden has plenty more. Perhaps… you could choose your own? Surely they would be less mangled than these.”

She laughed, bright and slightly nervous. “Truly? I don’t have a delicate touch, either.”

The tension was eased slightly with her light jest, enough to prompt Thor to speak further. “I am sure you could avoid injury much better than I. What do you say?”

She held the roses closer to her chest and granted him a beautiful smile. “I would love to.”

Relief flooded over Thor’s shoulders. Not only did she not refuse his poor attempt at a gift, she wasn’t horrified by his stumbling. “Next time, I will call for both my greaves and the artist responsible, yes?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Y/N breathed, then cleared her throat. “Yes.”

They smiled at each other for a moment, before she shifted under his gaze, breaking their eye contact. “Right. I should… finish the books for the day.”

“Of course!” Thor snapped himself out of his light stupor. “Yes. I will see you soon, good lady.”

“Goodbye, Thor.”

He reveled in her smile for another lingering moment before turning back in the direction of solar. Maybe there was hope for him yet. By this time next week, he would be fitted with new armor, and hopefully a new lady. He’d like to see Loki insult him after _that_.


End file.
